


Father and Son

by Genius_626



Series: Joseph Moore stories [1]
Category: The Alienist (TV), The Alienist - Caleb Carr
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Made up Backstory, Past Child Abuse, Repressed Memories, Therapy, dad feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 14:18:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15511698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Genius_626/pseuds/Genius_626
Summary: John and Joseph run into an unexpected ghost of the boy's past. So much has changed since the last time Joseph had seen his father, he'd almost forgotten the man existed.





	Father and Son

**Author's Note:**

> This is a mix of book and TV canon. (I prefer the book, but let's not get into that here lol). John's a journalist and Joseph is alive. 
> 
> No Beta, sorry if it sucks

It was a foggy day on the crowded streets of New York City. The marketplace was packed, to the mild annoyance of the journalist, John Schuyler Moore. The crowd only made his job harder, as he was tracking down a particular merchant for an interview, upon which his entire article depended on. 

A young Joseph Moore closely followed. He was sixteen years old, nearly seventeen, walking in leather shoes that were about a half inch too tight, and wearing trousers that just about showed the bottom of his ankles. John had taken him on assignment simply to save time; after the interview, they would go to the tailor’s for new alterations, then stop by the cobbler, possibly the haberdashery as well.

In the five years Joseph had been in John’s custody, he’d known no end to the expense in which he was cared for. Even after so many years, Joseph still found the sentiment daunting, which made him ever the more careful. He never liked to scuff his shoes, or loose his hat, or tear his coat, but it was inevitable with John’s regular encouragement to misbehave. No, John wasn’t the type to let him smoke or cause real mischief, but the man always told him to try and have fun; to be free and careless while he was still young, to do all the childish things he was never allowed in his earlier years.

And Joseph did try, though as everyone kept telling him, he was growing up. 

Directly after his kidnapping, with the financial support of the Moore family, he’d been admitted into Kreizler’s Institute for two years. He’d made a number of good friends there, friends he still had to this day and hopefully would never loose touch with. However, socializing with the outside world was still sometimes a struggle. And bless her soul, John’s grandmother was determined to teach him everything about etiquette, even if it was the last thing she did. 

They eventually found the fishmongers, and in their company, John would find his answers. The group was selling their wares in a dingy cart and a few well worn barrels. The rank smell came off to Joseph as strangely familiar, making him shudder. 

“I’m looking for a Hamish Granger.” John said. He didn’t need a verbal confirmation from anyone, as the group turned their eyes instinctively to Hamish. He wore a tattered blue cap and was smoking a pipe. Well, chewing it, rather. 

“I’d like to ask you a few questions about the body that washed up on shore.” John said. 

“Which one?” Hamish barked. He and his friends laughed. “They all come up chopped into bits. Once a month now, at least!”

“From last Tuesday.” John added, keeping his cool. While he continued with extracting information, Joseph stared blankly at the crass fish monger, a primal fear taking over his body, planting to that spot on the cobbled street. 

Eventually, Hamish looked over to the boy, not having noticed him before. He wrinkled his nose, took the pipe from his mouth, and spat on the ground. 

“This kid with you?” He asked John.

John then glanced to his side and took in the expression on Joseph’s face. He’d not seen this expression in many years, but knew exactly what it meant. Instinctually, he stepped in front of the boy, shielding him from the other men.

“He’s my son.” John replied. “That’s about all I need from you gentlemen, we’ll take our leave of you.”

“He takes after his mother then, does he?.” Hamish continued to prod. “Or maybe he does take after you, now that I'm lookin'. Doesn't look too bright.”

“That’s quite enough.” John said, wrapping an arm around Joseph’s shoulders and pulling him away. The last comment from Hamish was drowned in the bustle of the marketplace, and soon, they were on a quieter street, far enough away that the fish smell was finally out of reach. They soon came across a cafe, and so John sat them down. His son looked blue in the face, so John told him to breath. 

When enough oxygen had restored his natural color, Joseph gave a shaky sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, just tell me what happened." John said, concerned. "Are you alright? Do we need to go to hospital?”

Joseph shook his head. “I just…I saw my life flash before my own eyes. That…that Hamish…I’d completely forgotten him.”

John nodded, his grip firm on Joseph’s shoulder. He tried to formulate the most innocuous way to ask about Joseph’s traumatic past, for both Joseph’s sake and to keep a low profile at the cafe. 

“Was he a past client?” John asked quietly. 

Joseph shook his head again. He couldn’t meet John’s eyes, his own stung with unshed tears. 

“You know…you know that my mother died when I was very young. Maybe only two or three years old.” Joseph said. 

John’s heart clenched as he listened, thinking he finally understood.

“I hardly remembered before now but my…my father was very cruel.” Joseph continued. “Until he sold me to Kelly. And I never saw him again. I half forgot his name.”

Joseph fought himself, trying not to cry. John hesitated a moment, unsure of what to do. 

“Do we need to see Dr. Kreizler?” John asked. Even though Joseph's days at the Institute were over, they did have biannual check ups with Kreizler, so it wasn’t uncommon to call for an appointment.

“…Maybe, I’m not sure.” Joseph said, sniffing. “I just want to forget again.” He looked up at John with red eyes. “He’s not my father anymore. You’re the real thing, now, carin’ for me, giving me some kind of future.”

John held his gaze and felt a bittersweet pang in his chest. Bringing Joseph closer, his wrapped the boy in a hug, weaving his fingers into Joseph’s curls. Joseph let himself go for long enough release some of the most bitter tears. A few minutes later, they ordered coffee and planned their day accordingly. They went out to tailor’s, the cobbler’s, the haberdashery, and they even made it to the baker’s for pastry. 

…

As soon as they were home, Joseph went up to his room to put away his new things, and John called Lazlo. Later that night, they were in the main room of Kreilzer’s house, speaking to the doctor on his own couch.

Joseph was apprehensive, but much calmer than he had been that morning. John was in the room, staying at Joseph’s request. John had witnessed a few of these sessions in the past, when it was necessary he participate. He took some comfort in knowing that the topic wasn't so serious that he couldn't be there. 

John mainly listened as they talked of Joseph’s early life, which was now brought back into the forefront of his mind. The terrors of living in an abusive home, of never being fed, of working until his legs could not hold him up. And then being sold, like a gutted fish fresh from the barrel. 

Kreizler was very consistent in his technique, from what John could tell. His validation of past experiences was always a comfort for the children he saw to. It was even more of a comfort to John, really, for he didn’t always know what to do or say. He’d learned, and would continue to learn, just how to parent a child of Joseph’s background. 

“How did you feel, seeing him again for the first time in so long?” Kreizler asked. 

“I felt faint.” Joseph answered, his hands balling up at his knees. “I felt stuck, like I was just a little kid again.”

“And John,” Kriezler said, “How did you feel?”

“How did…” John trailed off, not expecting to be questioned himself. When he felt Joseph’s eyes on him, he cleared his throat to speak. “When I saw his face, I simply reacted.”

“What did you do?”

“He shielded me.” Joseph answered for him. “And then we left. I couldn’t feel my feet.”

Kreizler nodded thoughtfully. “I see you’ve made it out unscathed. Tell me, Joseph, do you think if you saw this man again, you would react the same way?”

“No.” The boy said rather decisively. “Now that I think about it, I’m angry. Not because he didn’t recognize me, not because he seemed to forget me entirely, but because he’s a cruel man, and unbeknown to anyone, he nearly ruined me. He could well be ruining someone else, and no one would care.”

“It is a hard truth, to see how cruel the world can be.” Kreizler said. “And when you grow up, you have a choice; to be like your father, or to find your own path, and care for others as well as for yourself.”

John smiled then. Despite his doubts about his own parenting, he was glad he made the choice to adopt Joseph. He would have regretted any other decision. 

...

John and Lazlo fell into comfortable conversation when Joseph disappeared somewhere with Stevie. The two men were both graying at the edges, remembering a time when they were just young fools in college. 

"Fatherhood has changed you." Kreizler said. 

"Indeed." John replied. "I do little else but work and sleep. I'm a boring old man, now."

"You're a respectable care taker." Kreizler insisted. "You take better care of yourself, and you take good care of your ward. It's refreshing to see a friend find balance in his life. Even by uncommon means."

"Look who's talking." John replied with a smile. "I must admit, I am more than content. The day I signed the adoption papers, I felt the pressure. I couldn't become my own father. Neglectful, always disapproving, always questioning. I wanted him to feel accepted, despite his past."

Kreizler smiled. "You've proven it to the boy, then. That the son does not necessarily become like his father. He can learn, and grow, and become better."

"High praise, from a man who's repeatedly called me unwise, in so many words."

**Author's Note:**

> I never know how to end fics xP


End file.
